


A Matter of Perspective

by oh_demoted_short_one, those_painted_wings



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Mind Meld, Warning: slight crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 13:24:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_demoted_short_one/pseuds/oh_demoted_short_one, https://archiveofourown.org/users/those_painted_wings/pseuds/those_painted_wings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was supposed to be something they could laugh about afterwards, not a cruelty. Someone really should have explained pranks to Spock earlier. But then again, that was pretty much their fault too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Perspective

Scotty hummed cheerfully as he went about his unauthorized and carefully overlooked modifications. The song had been stuck in his head for a while now, completely at odds with the season - it being nearly Easter, and the song having an entirely 'Scottish Christmas' air. It was extremely catchy, indeed, had been chosen for that specific characteristic, and soon the entire engineering department had it stuck in their heads. It spread in short order through the ship, and eventually even Bones, who was well known for his utter loathing of holiday music, was affected.

Jim was happily infected as well, and when Spock asked the reason behind the sudden prominence of out-of-key renditions, he crowed, “Isn't it fun?! I think I got it from the ensign who gave me my coffee and apple this morning!”

Spock nodded politely and slipped away, only to call up the ship's doctor a moment later.

“This… humming, is it contagious? Should not the afflicted individuals be quarantined until they recover, lest it spread to the entirety of the crew?” he asked primly once the connection had been made and McCoy was paying attention.

McCoy barely managed to hide a grin behind artificial 'thoughtfully pursed' lips. “It’s no use, Spock - everyone’s already got it. It shouldn't be a problem,” he assured, and then hummed a few bars

Spock’s reaction was instantaneous and severe, at least for him. He nodded tightly and took his leave of the communique. McCoy noted that his eyes were just slightly bigger than normal, and laughed raucously once he was alone in his office once more.

He jabbed the communicator and whispered, feeling much like a spy from an old cheesy holovid than a certified medical practitioner, “Jim! The bird has flown! The bird…” but had to cut the link because he was cracking up in a most unprofessional and unspylike manner.

Jim snickered from where he sat in his beloved Captain's Chair before schooling his expression a bit and going back to humming, if a tad louder than before. The others on the Bridge that were in on the joke also began humming, though they went about their business as if they weren't doing anything abnormal. The result was a veritable four-part harmony thrumming through the air, bombarding Spock as he came out of Jim’s off-Bridge Ready Room.

He twitched and Jim nearly lost his cool right then and there. By sheer effort of will, he maintained composure and turned to Spock with a serious frown on his face.

“Spock, we still on schedule?” he asked the question as he might on any other day.

“Yes, Captain. Seven days, seven hours, and twelve minutes remain before we reach Tennon VI,” Spock replied stiffly.

Jim grinned back to him and replied with a nod, “Good, very good! We’ll be there in no time at all!”

“Actually, Captain, the duration of time will be seven days, seven,” but Jim cut him off with ease of long practice.

“Spock, are you feeling alright? You look a bit… peaky.”

“I assure you, Captain, I am in perfect health. I must admit to some concern as to the condition of the crew.”

Jim looked around the room in mock surprise, “What’s happened? Was there another incident in the Jeffries again?"

“No. The crew seems to have become infected by some kind of virus, which causes subconscious repetition of a series of notes. You have also been affected,” Spock explained, stepping a bit further into the room to speak more clearly to Jim.

Jim stared at him for a moment before snorting and shaking his head, “Nonsense! Who ever heard of something like that? I’m sure you’re just being obtuse.” He smiled serenely and turned back in his chair, returning to his humming with renewed vigor, the others soon joining into a harmony once more.

“Captain, may I be excused? There are some lab tests that I need to tend to.”

Jim waved a hand absently, calling over his shoulder, “Go for it, buddy. Have fun with that." 

Spock took his leave quickly, making his way through the quickly despite careful avoidance of the more popular routes. He keyed in the code to his quarters with deft and practiced strokes and settle into his desk chair, fingers pressed to his temples. The persistent music pressed on his mental shields, even now trying to seat itself within his mind on an endless loop. He felt an urge to attempt to replicate it on his lyre, which he violently repressed.

Instead of giving in to the whim, he moved to his console and ran a search through the Starfleet databases for any illnesses that corresponded to what he had witnessed thus far. The results were dismally bare, pointing instead to an as of yet unencountered alien life form in action upon the Enterprise. The possibility also occurred to him of a new sentient parasitic species preying upon his Captain and crew, who he was sworn to protect. A couple of old studies mentioned the human tendency to allow subconscious impulses to drive conscious actions. If some kind of alien life form was affecting the crew’s minds, there would be very little, if any resistance the human could or would put up. This bid the question of what the purpose this repetition of sounds served, as well as the origin of the aliens in the first place. These queries could be presented later, though. At the moment what he needed was to meditate, to purge his own mind of the melody that had quickly turned haunting, ominous – though of course, the notion of a 'foreboding feeling' was an illogical and human affectation.

When Spock reentered the Bridge some time later, it was to the sound of Chekov announcing jubilantly, “Captain! I looked through the database and found lyrics!”

A few happy whoops met the statement, and the Captain was also clapping, smiling broadly, “That’s great Pavel! Let’s hear’em! Give more meaning to it!”

Spock was growing more alarmed by the moment. On his way to the Bridge, he had encountered no less than ten other individuals murmuring the song to themselves, including Gaila and Keenser. Whatever this was, it was powerful enough to overwhelm the entire population of the Enterprise, as well as to hold sway over an Orion and… whatever Keenser happened to be. Incidentally, it was unacceptable that he continued to be in ignorance as to a crew member's nature, a problem which he would rectify as soon as this crisis was resolved. Was it possible that he was the only one not under the spell of this?

Also to be considered, it was obviously no longer holding to just subconscious manipulations – if Chekov was deliberately looking up lyrics, then the parasite must have been ingraining itself within their conscious minds… He turned abruptly and fled the Bridge as fast as he had come to it. He holed himself up in his quarters, wracking his brain for some sort of solution to this… situation. There were no obvious causes to be seen, no clue of an alien presence, no prior symptoms, no sign other than the fact that one day things had been going forward in an ordinary fashion, and the next, people were being infected by a thing. The facts were sparse and terrible: it was unknown and had grown at an exponential rate until now it blanketed the entirety of the Enterprise. There was no immediate logical explanation, and without access to the crew without risk of contamination, there could be no solutions. Settling himself on his bed, he began to make a plan.

*~*~*~*~*

“You seen Spock lately? He didn't check in for Beta shift.”

Jim shook his head, “As far as I know he’s been hiding away in his quarters. I was just going to go see him.”

Bones held up a hand, “Stay here. I’ll go see him. Let’s hope he can take a joke.”

Jim wavered suddenly, looking as if he had had a sudden and unpleasant epiphany, “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Bones asked, not unkindly.

Jim stammered a few incoherent syllables before gathering himself and turning to face his friend directly, “Think about it, Bones. You perceive your world and by your observations you draw conclusions. Your conclusions are inherently logical and lack the insight of understanding emotional motivations, in most cases.”

“I’m not the hobgoblin! And when did you get a dictionary?” Bones interrupted, but Jim flapped a hand to shut him up and plowed onward.

“Bones, to Spock this isn't just a prank. This is… torture. He might not even know what a prank is. I highly doubt they played practical jokes on Vulcan, and no one at the Academy would've dared. He’d have had them up on charges in an instant, no matter how innocent.”

Bones blanched at the realization and ran a hand through his hair, “Dammit. I knew there was something off about the plan. We should've explained or something about pranks, before doing this. What do you think could be running through his head right now?”

Jim paced a few steps up and down the observation deck, “He’s probably trying to determine a way to save us from whatever he thinks this is, and to protect himself.”

Bones shook his head in aggravation, not necessarily at just the situation but them as well, “We need to talk to him. But I don’t know if he’ll let us. Believe it at all, I mean. We've really done it this time Jim.”

“Yeah. Now we've got to fix it. First thing - tell everyone to stop the humming and singing. It’s obviously just making it worse.”

Bones nodded his agreement with the course of action, “And then?”

“And then we apologize and explain to Spock.”

“Fun,” he intoned in a sighing exhalation, “Okay, you do the stopping, and I’ll try to get Spock out of solitary.”

*~*~*~*~*

Bones firmly knocked on the door to Spock’s quarters when they didn't open to his summons. No way in hell was he going to use his override when Spock was under the assumption that something was mind-controlling them all.

“Spock? You in there?” he called out.

For a moment he thought his plea would go unanswered, but after a time the crisp notes of Spock’s voice cut through the metal of the barrier, “I am present. Who is asking?”

Bones quirked his head to the side in confusion, “We interact every day and you don’t recognize my voice? That bites more than mosquitoes during the wet season, Spock.”

“I merely wished to ensure your identity, Doctor." Within, Bones could hear the faint sound of light footsteps approaching the door.

“Your behavior and that of every member of the crew has diverged of late from standard parameters. It is not impossible that another crew member might attempt to imitate you. However, your curious turn of phrase is sufficient proof: I have never heard similar speech patterns from anyone on board but Doctor McCoy.”

Bones nearly sighed in relief. “Thank goodness. Why've you been in your room this whole time? Are you sick? Feeling off?” he asked cautiously - perhaps Spock hadn't actually taken it as seriously as they’d worried.

Jim walked up with a nod to signify the fulfillment of his part of the plan, and Bones nodded back to him in understanding before turning his attention back to the quarters.

The door slid open with a familiar whoosh to reveal Spock standing immediately behind it, as composed as ever.

“I merely required a period of meditation. Everything is,” a bare moment of hesitation followed, “fine, though I appreciate your concern.”

Bones nodded slowly, and honestly had no idea what to make of that statement. Something seemed off here, but he wasn't sure what exactly Spock was withholding.  
Jim was content just to see Spock though, and grinned widely at him, “Hey Spock! We thought we’d lost you for a while there! Feeling better?”

“There is no need for concern, Captain. You commonly express interest in the crew’s well-being, but it in this case I have no need for your regard.” He looked them over swiftly, expression not even revealing the thoughts his friends had learned how to read. “As you may recall, it is my off shift, and I have a private project to work on. If that is all…” 

Jim, not to be put off, shook his head and clapped Spock on the shoulder, “Nonsense Spock! You've been missing all day! Come have lunch with us at least?”

Spock did not hesitate, nor glance longingly back into his quarters. But he wanted to. He reluctantly gave in to the familiar request, “That would be… acceptable, Captain.”

Nodding happily, Jim set off, leaving Bones and Spock to follow. They did, and the three - two hopeful and one rather suspicious - made their way to the mess without incident. That was about the end of their luck on that front. They were fetching their trays when an ensign entered the mess hall, arms swinging freely and lips pursed to whistle. Five notes escaped him before Jim’s hand was clamped across his mouth, but they were enough to set Spock stiffening up like a corpse.

Bones looked at Spock for a long minute, glared at Jim for another minute, and turned back to Spock. Was he a bit farther away than he had been seconds before? That vulcan could move like – well, like an alien, sometimes, too fast to really register.

Jim hissed at the ensign and turned the young man before pushing him from the room, but the damage had already been done. Everyone still in the hall was purposely averting their eyes, but the loud chatter that usually characterized the communal area was conspicuously absent.

“Spock –“ Bones began, taking a step closer to the man.

Spock didn't recoil, exactly, but something about his demeanor kept Bones from coming any closer. The usually expressive brown eyes were cold. He looked as, if not more, vulcan now as he had been the first few days aboard.

“I wish to speak to your leader,” he said to no one in particular.

Jim, who’d been silent until this point, smacked himself in the forehead with a dull groan. “Spock, there’re no aliens here! We were joking,” he said before Bones could continue.

Spock didn't show any reaction to the plea. “There is no point in further prevarication. I wish to be informed of your intentions with the crew and this ship.”  
Jim sighed and looked instead to McCoy for help, “Bones, tell him!”

Bones threw up his arms in a gesture that screamed ‘don’t look at me!’ and accompanied it with a resounding reproach - as if he ever administered any other kind - “What makes you think he’ll listen to me?! You’re closer to him than I am, and this whole thing was your stupid idea! You convince him we really are ourselves!”

Jim, with a whine, turned back to Spock, “Spock, you've got to believe me! We were just joking! It was a prank; a practical joke! Haven’t you ever heard of them?”

There was no visible sign of Spock yielding his position, but privately he began to wonder. Would not a joke in poor taste by his friends be more likely than a telepathic alien invasion? To the men in front of him, he issued a final question, “With what intent would the Captain have played a ‘prank’ on me?”

The young officer in question gave him a softer look, “Spock, I've been playing pranks and jokes on you for nearly two years now! You can’t tell me you didn't wonder ‘why’ about all of those too, after a while. I just,” he shrugged helplessly, “got the rest of the crew in on this one.” He gave a small grin then, something that spoke of mischief and leaned forward a bit as if to bestow a secret on him, though he spoke not a decibel lower than he had before, “If it helps at all, Bones took nearly a month to convince.”

Bones looked affronted and rolled his eyes at the act, and this time Spock visibly wavered, eyes and the tight skin around them slackening and tensing again as if to attest to some inner struggle, which was very much the case.

“I don’t…” he hesitated, uncharacteristically lost for words, “How…” he trailed into silence and looked between the two in wary confusion.

Jim sighed, “What do you need to be convinced that I've not been taken over by a creepy-telepathic-alien-thing?”

Spock recovered with the question, standing straighter now that he had something he could reply to. “A mind meld,” he stated, voice once again strong and assured.  
Jim’s eyes widened in the face of the reply, more at the words themselves than the manner they were delivered in, and he faltered noticeably, the memory of his meld with Spock Prime coming back to him in a not so pleasant rush.

“Uh… Are you sure? I thought that vulcans were really private about that stuff. You yourself really hate physical touching, let alone mentally, and you’re only a half-vulcan,” he said haltingly, blanching a bit at the concept.

“It is not something I would prefer,” Spock admitted, voice lowering so that its cast was just between the three of them, “But it is the only thing immediately available that would assure me of your definite nature. It need not,” he hastened to add, “be a deep or prolonged affair.”

Jim held back a sigh of relief- it must have been a record, because he never sighed if he could help it, and he’d been doing so all day - but slowly nodded. “Okay. If… if it’ll convince you then I’ll do it.”

Spock inclined his head. “You have my gratitude… Jim,” he glanced around the Mess, where everyone was trying to look like they weren't listening in before continuing, “Might I suggest a more private setting?”

Jim nodded fervently and Bones herded them from the hall and into the nearby Sick Bay, where they could go into a private room. It was cold and crisp and sterile, like almost every public room of the Enterprise, but in this case the impersonal surroundings were less familiar and more like the walls of a lab… or an ice cave… Jim shivered.

Spock glanced at him in concern. Bones stood off to the aside but kept a careful eye on the proceedings. He’d noticed as well that Jim had turned out at least more apprehensive than he would have with regards to something like this. He was looking around the room warily and occasionally back to Spock as well, with the same look about him as he did while observing his surroundings. It was a shock to see the disquiet melting his authority, and the appearance of years that came with it, making him seem his tender age, or maybe even younger.

Spock realized quickly that he needed to take control of the situation, and positioned himself opposite to and facing Jim, whose eyes followed the every movement. Eventually, Spock reached toward Jim’s face, before remembering that Jim would have no idea about the process involved with a meld. He explained, words clipped short, “I will need to touch your face. I will endeavor not to intrude, but some degree of emotional transference is inevitable,” he paused, hand suspended in midair between them, “I believe… I should apologize in advance. I am not accustomed to performing mind-melds, and am therefore not as adept at it as someone who is older.”

Jim just nodded jerkily once, having paid the words very little attention, instead holding back the urge to balk from the situation, ready to bolt from his place sitting on the edge of the bed in the middle of the fairly wide room. “Just… do it Spock. It’s fine. And… I’m sorry,” he finally managed to bite out, voice shaky at best and betraying his feelings on the matter.

Spock reached the rest of the way forward, placing his fingers carefully along the side of Jim’s face, contacting the meld points. The ritual words were heavy on his lips, “My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts.”

He had expected some measure of chaos within Jim’s - or whoever it was - mind. The impossibly ordered shelves and waves of thoughts were not. He’d never seen a mind so wildly structured throughout. Everything moved so quickly and in no particular way or sequence, that initially it was difficult to believe that Jim didn't have any sort of deficiency or impairment to his abilities to pay attention or focus. At a second glance – or feel, or whatever this irrational mental contact was - everything was focused, almost painfully so. Every thought as sharp as the edge of a razor, direct and to the point. Memories sorted not by words, but by feelings, emotions, snatches of sound and senses.

This was unmistakably Jim. Everything was saturated in the essence of him, something as distinctive as a scent but going much deeper than the primary senses, tagging this mind as Jim, without any taint that would indicate an intruder.

There was so much joy in him, a sheer exhilaration in his own existence, throbbing with the pulse of his young, strong heart. Under that, all tangled together: love, fear, worry, grief both new and old, as well as a myriad of other things. Some were easy to define, Jim’s mind readily presenting images at the gentle brush of Spock's mind against the emotion. Love emerged like a blossom into the sun: Spock, Bones, the crew, the Enterprise, as well as small activities; running, especially, but also bickering with Bones, their customary chess games and the sight of the Bridge working in perfect harmony. Worry burgeoned through as it was often wont to do, for Spock and Bones mostly, though it went deeper into the whole of the crew, who were nearly as close as family. Grief was present in the background, a dull ache that pulsed sharply every so often, leaving behind the sour feel of melancholy: vague images of a mother too shamed to look at him in her own grief, a brother, an old man staring with a smile on his face, the touch of other hands over his cheek and forehead…

_‘You have been, and always will be my friend…’_

He pulled back with a sharp shock, letting the connection die away, with perhaps a bit more force than necessary, if only to definitively sever it. He was beyond disbelief. Jim had been in a meld before, with another. Even with the fact that it was himself - baffling though that was - there was a confusing bout of discontent roiling within him at the concept. But it did explain Jim’s utter discomfort at the thought of melding. The previous meld that he had partaken in was a sudden, jarring memory, even two years later. And now, Spock realized with dismay, he had conducted himself in a similar hurried and careless manner. He broke himself from his thoughts to see if Jim was alright, and found that the young man wasn't facing towards him anymore. In fact, he’d somehow managed to get to the other side of the room, and put the bio bed that dominated the bulk of the room’s space between them.

Taking a step to the side, ready to go to Jim, to make amends for such a grievous, reckless act as jarring someone out of an already unsettling meld, Spock held up his hands in the universal sigh of surrender - something vulcans didn't partake in for obvious reasons. “Jim, I am--”

Jim cut him off, holding up a hand of his own from his position facing the wall, “It’s… okay Spock. I’m fine. You didn't know - I should’ve told you before. I didn't think I’d need to… And anyway, you already apologized,” his voice was wispy, as if there wasn't enough air or just a lack of presence to bring forth the energy to speak - it made Spock feel vaguely ill.

“There should have been no need. It was not my business - I should not have pried,” Spock felt guilty, and he didn't suppress the feeling with his usual intolerance. It was right that he feel guilty, for he had hurt his friend.

Jim turned back to him then, with a fierceness in his eyes that clashed with the distraught lilt of his words and the remaining distress etching his features. “Don’t be sorry Spock. You did what you thought was necessary to make sure your Captain - and more importantly, friend - was alright. The whole thing would've been unnecessary if I hadn't pulled the damn prank in the first place, or at the very least, explained what they were beforehand,” he was shaking by the end of his confession, whether from too much adrenaline or the remaining emotional overload wasn't clear, though Spock was inclined to believe it was something of both.

Spock stood silent for a long moment before saying slowly, “It appears that we are both guilty parties,” and his voice was as measured as ever, though he couldn't help thinking it was easy to forgive and trust the Captain, when the mistake had been made an attempt at good humor between two friends. But his own violation had been to the Captain’s - to Jim’s - very mind, and how could a psi-null human forgive an offense of which he had no ken to understand the severity of? One which, furthermore, he had no skill to defend against?

Jim seemed to deflate in front of them, and sagged back against the wall. “Yeah,” he said on a sigh, giving into the urge, because damned if he had the energy to hold them back any longer, “It looks that way…”

A shudder ran through his frame that both men could see him try to repress, and ran a hand through his hair to disperse his anxiety, with very minimal success. It was a weak illusion to even pose to them.

Someone moved on the other side of the room, and both of them immediately recalled the presence of Doctor McCoy. They turned, focused on him, and he cleared his throat before saying, “I have no idea what most that conversation was about, but even I can tell that Spock feels very bad about something he did, and Jim feels very bad about something that he didn't do. So, Jim, do it now, and Spock, say sorry. Then we can go back to our normal, unfortunately not-so-mundane lives in this tin can.”

If Jim’s face regained a bit of color, centered on his cheeks, and the tips of Spock’s ears turned a color most people not used to vulcans would relate to impending sickness, none of the room’s occupants mentioned it. Bones looked at Jim pointedly, and the young man was suddenly nervous all over again for some reason. He explained the source of the week’s controversy quickly, and with few looks directly at Spock, “What we were doing was called a prank, or a practical joke. Friends will use them ‘against’ their friends to provide a well meant source of entertainment at the victim’s expense. Some jerks take it too far, but most of us just do it occasionally to give everyone a laugh, including the victim. I- I’m sorry I did that without informing you of what they are. It was out of line. It won’t happen again.” His words got more confident as he continued, though they ended on a rather plaintive note.

Spock had been impassive through the spiel, but his words - “All is forgiven, Jim.” - were true. “And I too must apologize, but for a much greater offense. I failed to restrain myself to simply verifying your identity and responded inappropriately to what I found,” he kept eye contact with Jim, as if to convey there his sincere meaning, which seemed to work quite well.

Jim looked confused at this confession though, “What are you talking about? I couldn't stop thinking about…” his eyes closed for a moment with a grimace, “the last time. It would've been insane to think that you could avoid seeing it!”

Spock had no reply to that, but the Doctor had apparently decided that none was necessary, for he exclaimed, “There! Now that mess is all sorted out! I’ll just be leaving now -Ensign Conner’s got the flu and I--”

“Aren’t you forgetting something, Bones?”

From where he was standing, facing the Doctor, Spock was able to spot the flinch in his features as he turned around with a long suffering sigh, “Ugh… fine. Spock, I’m… sorry, that I didn't explain what pranks are. I’m as much at fault as Jim is; I am his keeper after all.”

He gave Jim a mockingly petulant look, which held no sway on the young man as he grinned back. It was easy to see the actual relief in the Doctor’s eyes at the outcome - things would be alright now.

“There Bones, now you can sleep knowing that you’re still a good role model and example for Joey!”

Bones rolled his eyes, “Leave my daughter out of your messes, you hooligan!”

“I agree; the Doctor’s daughter has no relevance to this conversation.”

And Jim laughed.


End file.
